


Some Things Just Stay Broken

by Fighting4Fandoms



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alternate Universe, Betrayal, Bury The Hatchet, F/M, Female Trevor Philips, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Male-Female Friendship, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25865497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fighting4Fandoms/pseuds/Fighting4Fandoms
Summary: Trish thought that she could handle whatever life decided to throw at her but sometimes... things just have to stay broken. And 'things' often means Michael much to her dismay.
Relationships: Franklin Clinton & Michael De Santa, Franklin Clinton & Trevor Philips, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

"You know what? Fuck you! Fuck you, Mike!" 

Michael sighed, putting his hands on the back of his head, he always knew that Patricia Philips was a woman to not fuck around with but the way she was acting right now. Was it rational? Was she allowed to be this... angry? The way she was acting, Michael began to suspect that she was more than just angry and that was what scared him even more. 

"You're such a... a cunt!" Trisha screeched, kicking the headstone of Brad's grave. 

"Listen, listen to how you're acting!" Michael needed Storm Trish to pass. "Listen to yourself, Trish." 

"Why, why the _fuck_ should I?" Trish had tears in her eyes. "Did Brad? Did Brad know that this was your little plan?" 

"No." Michael shook his head, his hand curling around his gun, he really didn't want to hurt her but he was beginning to think that he may have to. "Why do you even care that he's dead? After what that prick did to you?" 

"You promised you wouldn't bring that up." Trish hissed. "Why the hell would you remind me of that? It wasn't the fact he's dead. it's the fact that I thought at least one of you was still alive. I spent so fucking long thinking you were dead and you're acting like you don't give a shit. What if you were in my shoes? Huh?" 

Michael couldn't quite find the right words, in a way, he couldn't understand how she felt. 9 years was a heck of a long time. 

"Do you even care?" Trisha's eyes flashed red. "No. No you fucking don't. Well... fuck you!" 

Trish put her middle finger up at him. She didn't dare stand too close to him in case she did something she'd regret later on. Oh by Christ, she really wanted to tear his throat out with her bare fucking hands. 

"Trish-"

"Fuck off! Just leave me the hell alone, Michael."

There was a part of him that really wanted to but the rational part of him that told him that if he did leave her on her own she would hurt herself more than anyone else. She was murderous and psychotic but... fuck it. She was a part of him, a part of him that he thought he had buried along with Brad's corpse. Oh, how wrong he was. 

"No, Trish, we're going to talk. Here and now." 

"And say what? Huh?" Tears began to pour out of her eyes, leaking down her cheeks, "You fucking left me, man. You wouldn't care if I got shot. You would have left me- You did! I don't have to listen to a word that comes out of your pissing mouth. Your words mean nothing." 

"Just, stop ranting, for a moment. Just listen-"

"Fine." Trisha sat on the floor and crossed her legs, pursing her lips. "Talk." 

"I didn't want to leave but it was either you or him." 

"Oh so I should be thanking you?" Trisha shrugged her arms, "Is that what I should be doing?" 

Michael sighed, pacing the ground beside the grave and Trisha, "No, fuck no."

"Yeah, living in this shithole was great and everything but you broke my fucking heart." Trisha pointed accusingly, "You had your wife and kids and shit, I had no one. Just me, myself and fucking I. I would have had someone else but God's a dick to me and said 'fuck you, Trish'."

"Someone else?" Michael tilted his head, "What the hell are you on about?" 

"Yeah, didn't think you'd remember." Trisha smirked but there was no amusement behind it. She wasn't laughing now. She was pissed. "it was about a few weeks before one of the worse days of my life. You were a teensy bit drunk that night, so was I, were at a motel because Amanda was pissed off with you or something. One few too many drinks and voila. Bun. Oven." 

"Why the hell did you not say anything?" Michael asked, not quite believing what she was insinuating. He couldn't imagine Trisha as a mother. She could barely look after herself. He could smell her from where he was standing. 

"Because... for once, I wasn't thinking about myself." Trisha wiped her tears away with her sleeve, "I thought about you, how it would affect your marriage. Yeah, and I'm the asshole."   
"What happened?" He asked, slowly approaching her like she was an injured animal. 

"Erm, after you 'died' I was on the run for a while, trying to get somewhere else. I lost him."

"Him? A boy?" 

"Yeah." 

"Shit."

Trisha sat herself down so she was sitting with her back leaning against a headstone, "Come, amigo, I'm not angry anymore."

"You should be," Michael sighed, sitting down on the cold ground beside her. "Hell, I would still be." 

"Well, that's my secret, I'm always fucking angry." Trisha laughed under her breath, "That's the thing about life you know, things get broken, fucked up, whatever." 

"Some things just stay broken," Michael sighed, "I never stopped thinking about you, you know that?" 

"Same." Trish sighed. "I could have had him and he would've been that piece of you that was still here." 

"I can't exactly leave my family," Michael sighed, "but you're like my guilty pleasure, I see you, want you, wouldn't care what people thought if I took you here and now." 

"Fucking in a graveyard. How fucking original." 

"If it wasn't snowing, I wouldn't mind."

Trisha smiled, leaning her head against Michael's shoulder. "I'm sorry for yelling." 

"It's fine." Michael whispered, kissing her head. "Just please come back, stay mine while the others are gone." 

"I don't want to burden you, Mike." She said quietly, "I hate you but I love you. I love you more than I hate you. You know what I mean?" 

"Yeah, I feel the same. You do my head in... but I wouldn't have it any other way." 


	2. The Big One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they pull the Big One, they temporarily go their separate but life always has a way of bringing people back together.  
> Or, Michael and Trisha have to rescue their 'son', Franklin from danger.

"Wait, tell me again." Trisha said, driving the Bodhi down the freeway. 

Michael sighed, putting his hand to his temple while he attempted to distract himself from his psychotic best friend's reckless driving. 

He explained to her that Franklin had found himself in a spot of bother so he and Trisha were going to get him out. 

He shook his head when another pedestrian was ran over by the crazed lunatic beside him. 

"Hey it's medicinal!"

"For the last damn time, homicide isn't medicinal!"

Trisha blew a raspberry. "You're no fun."

Despite Trisha's manic driving, Michael had to say that he enjoyed it. Sure the odd swear word came out during her rage driving but all the memories of the past just came flooding back. 

He remembered the day he met her. Yes, she was just as crazy as she was now but she had one of those faces that looked innocent but just weren't. It wasn't the fact that she was a woman, he was just a little sceptical. She had lasted a grand total of one month being an air force pilot. It seemed that her talents were wasted for doing good. 

Michael wasn't afraid to say that she was pretty too. Not like the hookers he was used to seeing but he could see a tortured past in those eyes. They had a couple of drinks and he didn't even sleep with her. 

Strange. 

"Hey, sugar," her husky voice pulled him out of the pool of memories he had found himself in, "if you're tired, I can wake ya up when we get there."

"Sorry. I was just thinkin'". 

"About?"

"Do you think about the past a lot, Trish?"

There was a moment of silence which made Michael think he had upset her. When she didn't yell ar him he was more worried.

Thankfully, Teish broke the silence for him. 

"Yeah. I do. Why you ask?"

Michael shook his head, "I don't know. I was thinking about the night we met. The fact that we didn't do it."

"That was a while ago."

"Yeah."

"I thought about you every damn day." Trisha didn't dare look at him in case she did something that she didn't want to do. That was crying. She hated it. When she shouted she could scare people, she knew she could and she revelled it that. So much power in such a little thing. Trisha hated it when she cried. As a child, she had learnt not to cry. Her father was a real mean piece of work. Even a toe out of line and she would have a red mark on her face. Her mother wasn't that much help either. Trisha learnt at an early age that she could only count on herself. 

She was the fool to forget that.

She met Michael and let down her guard. What a fucking idiot. She didn't trust her heart. She met Brad and thought she found a friend. What a fucking idiot. 

Maybe that's who she really was. 

A fucking idiot. 

"Listen, Mike." Trisha said in a soft tone that Michael hadn't heard in a long time. Trisha used that tone with Tracey and Jimmy when they were little and it made Michael's heart swoon. He knew that deep down that Trisha could be gentle when she wanted to be. 

"I was pissed. Still am. The point is... I forgive you. I thought about it a lot and as much as you, you useless sack of shit, annoy me.... I love you man. I'm not gonna lie."

"If I wasn't married-"

"Or had kids. Yeah I know. I wouldn't ask you to run away with me or whatever."

"Amanda was close to divorcing my ass."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"T!"

Trisha shrugged, "just asking. It's a fair question, sugar tits."

"Let's just go and get Frank and then we'll talk about this. Back at mine over a bottle of wine."

"Wine?" Trisha scoffed. "Two things I hate. Hippies and wine."

"Balls." Michael stifled a laugh. "You glug down wine by the bottle."

"I'll glug you in a minute, sunshine."


	3. Cheap Women and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael has standards. Trish however doesn't.

"And that, Mikey boy, is why you don't use chocolate pudding to wax your ass crack."

Franklin was back safe and sound in his house and Trish was a little out of it, getting shot wasn't the best thing in the world. 

It was the Ballers who had ambushed Franklin, took him hostage too. Lamar had been waiting for the pair of them to come and save Franklin's hide. 

Michael took him home with Trish in the back seat of the Bodhi, passed out. 

"She gonna be okay, dog?"

Michael nodded. Without a doubt, he knew she'd be fine. "She's been through a lot worse than that."

She had too and that was what upset him. Not that he would tell her, or show it for that matter. 

Anyway, he drove her to his house, it wasn't far from Franklin's and he didn't really want to venture to the Vanilla Unicorn either. 

Pulling up at his house, he didn't have to worry about Amanda or the kids. They were on vacation. 

He pulled his car just in the driveway when he saw her stir in the backseat. Thank fuck for leather. The blood would be easy to get out. 

He pulled her into a bridal hold, letting her head rest against his chest. 

"Huh?"

"You're safe now, T."

"Oh... it's you, M." Trish giggled. "Missed you, big guy..."

He hooked his arm under her legs and carried her inside. He didn't think about the sofa and just laid her on it. He was wary about pulling off those stained jogging bottoms but he needed to stitch her wound. 

That was this way of life though, stitching wounds, getting drunk or high. He wasn't cut out for the apple pie life with the white picket fences. And neither was Trisha. 

When he was introduced to her, the guy called her Patricia. The look on her face was one that he wanted to forget but he couldn't. She hated her mother but she loved her too. Her father... well she loathed him. She knew him until the age of ten then he left but those ten years were shit. Michael, compared to the woman on his sofa, had it much easier. 

Meeting her was one of the best and worst things of his life. 

He was being careful when he did the stitch. Tricia had a high pain tolerance. Sometimes Michael believed that she just didn't feel pain. Complete bullshit of course. 

Whenever he saw Trish with another man, or even a woman - he saw the way the hookers at the strip joint flirted with her - he felt a pang in his heart. Jealous? He didn't know. Was this what she felt when he was with his wife? 

Fuck.

When did life get so hard?

"Hey," Trish croaked. "You okay?"

"I am yeah. You need rest though."

"I'll rest when I'm 6 feet under."

As much as he admired that, he shook his head. "Wanna drink?"

"Hell yeah."

Trish curled her legs up to her chest on the sofa, ignoring the blood stains as Michael went to his liquor stand. 

"No wine."

"Not even this cheap shit?" Michael twiddled the bottle in his hand. 

"...fine. Gimme."

"Easy, tiger."

Trish snatched the bottle out of his hands and took the cork out with her teeth. Michael smirked. She had always been a little strange. It was one of the things that she had a little continuity about. 

Michael did have a question for her. He didn't have a clue how he was going to bring it up. It was about the baby. The baby they could have had if fate wasn't a dick. Honestly, even though she was deranged, Trisha was always good with his kids so what would she be like with her own? It was hard to think about. If he was going to talk about the baby with her he would have to put her in a state of mind that she would talk freely with. 

"Sobreity is overrated." She told him once. 

That plan went out the fucking window about 5 drinks in. Michael completely forgot what he was going to ask her when her shirt came undone. It wasn't like she was teasing him, but the way she kept looking at him. Damn. 

"Hey. Hey. Hey M. M. Michael. Mikey boy!" Trisha kept flicking his shoulder. "Did you know that lobsters piss outta their faces?"

"Bullshit."

"No!" Trisha gasped. "It's true. I promise. Their pee pee hole is on their face!"

Michael had a thing for women who talked nonsense. He didn't know why. Probably why he lasted as long as he did with Amanda. She always talked utter bullshit. Tricia wasn't stupid. She was quite intelligent. She was good with numbers and that was what made her a good thief. A good CEO too. Sometimes though, she could say such stupid things that it made him want to rip her clothes off. 

He had constraint though. 

He heard about people who would rape women in dirty alleys. He vowed he'd never do that and that if he ever saw it happen he'd kill the motherfucker who would do it. That's why he never missed Brad. 

It was a subject that Trisha always failed to bring up to anyone when she would talk about Brad. He was a dick. A complete and utter dick. When he hurt Trisha that one time... he was done. Lester didn't know though that's why he brought him along for that fucking job. North fucking Yankton. When he watched Brad go done... well he was happy. That fucker deserved it. 

Trisha put her head on Michael's shoulder. "I missed you."

"Missed you too, T."

He kissed the side of her head. 

"I think about that night." Trisha said, a little bit tipsily. 

Michael raised his eyebrow but doing by how tenderly she was smiling... she meant _that night._ He remembered that night too. One too many drinks and a night at a motel before the night that changed their lives forever. Brad was in the opposite room and Michael and Trisha offered to share a room. For expense reasons. He often thought about lying in a bed with Trisha Philips but this was not what he thought. She slept like a kitten. Soundly and curled up. He didn't remember everything that happened that night but what he had visual images of was her on top of him, bouncing up and down, her perky breasts. Despite the scars on her skin, Trisha had soft skin. He didn't want to know what her skincare routine was. 

"Wanna relive it?" Trisha asked, giggling to herself. 

Michael couldn't help himself. His cheeks went bright red. 

Trisha happened to notice. 

"Mikey, embarrassed?"

"No."

"Ohhhhh." She gasped. "We don't have to tell anyone. It can be our secret."

"Fuck it." Michael gently took her by the shoulders and laid her down. It has his time to take top. 

"Ow."

"Sorry."

She winced, "it's okay, babe. Just... be gentle."

"Always." 


	4. Too Old for This Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trisha had a dilemma

It was easy to say that Trisha Philips wasn't like most women in LS. For example, most of those women had some class about them. The lack of class made Trisha unique and Michael de Santa liked that. He liked the fact that he didn't need to save her ass every damn minute of the day. Trisha didn't have trouble finding trouble. Partly, because trouble always seemed to find her. To this day he still had no idea what it was, what exactly it was, that he liked about her. 

She didn't care about the way she looked. 

Trisha didn't wear makeup or did her hair nice. She wore her hair down mostly but when she would pilot that helicopter or biplane, she would put her greasy locks into a ponytail. Her hair wasn't always greasy, she didn't always go home. She didn't mind living in a trailer. She really didn't. Ron was... company but not company she always desired. He was clingy. He looked up to her like she was some god or something. It got on her nerves most of the time. It didn't help that he was shit scared of her either. 

Don't get her wrong, she enjoyed having that power over people. Trisha enjoyed the fear that radiated from people when she got angry. If she had a high moral compass, she would have forgiven and forget but she didn't. Trisha had some morals, just not a lot. She wasn't rational either. If she wanted to disembowel someone, she'd do it. She wouldn't feel guilty about it either. Well, she did sometimes. Once in a blue moon. Like Floyd for example. He was someone she hadn't intended to kill but he was getting on her nerves, Debra too, so she took them out. She threw out the bloodstained clothes after killing the owner of the strip club. 

Ah, the strip club. 

When some men hear that women watch porn too, they writhe, like ants under a magnifying glass. 

Oh how she loved to watch them writhe. 

You could tell a lot about someone by how they view porn. 

Some men didn't see women as women, more like objects. 

Not every man of course. That'd be stupid. 

Her mother was a prostitute. Proud of it too. Brought it up any chance she could. Made parent's evenings really fun. Don't watch the product if you're going to belittle the woman who decides to watch it as well as sell it. 

Trisha had different ambitions. She wasn't going to be some whore you'd pick up on the side of the road. Trisha actually had respect for those girls, the ones in the club she now owned and the ones she'd see driving down the road at night. 

Luckily the girls didn't seem to mind when another woman picked them up in a bright red truck. 

Trisha had her favorites. Who didn't? She liked that Juliet, the dancer at her joint with the blonde hair and the red underwear. She was nice. Treated her right. Trisha stopped asking for private dances though when she finally forgave Michael. 

Oh Michael. 

Why did you have to fucking complicate things like this? 

Hunched over the toilet bowl, Trisha gripped the sides as she threw up the contents of her stomach inside. 

Unfortunately, being sick was a common occurrence. Eating people would do that to ya. It wasn't like she purposely went out of her way to eat someone. Yes. She had slight cannabilistic tendencies but she wasn't a psycho- No. Wait. She was. She was definitely unhinged. 

Weirdly though, she had been throwing up for days. Always in the morning too. Huh. How weird. 

*Ring Ring*

"Fucks sake." She moaned under her breath as she picked up her phone from the cabinet. "Yeah?"

"Shit, dog." Fuck it was the kid. "You okay? You sound a little faded."

"Bad takeout, F." Was the feeble excuse that the came out of her mouth. "You okay?"

"For sure." Franklin replied. "Listen, me and M we have a little heist together. Wanna join?"

"What about the bricks we just stashed?"

"I said that too. Lester seems eager though."

"I bet he does. Little prick." Trish wiped the vomit from around her mouth with her sleeve. "Send me the location or whatever. Be there in 20."

"Are you sure you wanna come? You don't sound great."

"I'm fit as a fiddle, young squire. I'll be there."

"Peace out, T."

Trish put the phone down on the floor and leaned back against the cold tiles of her bathroom at the strip club. The faint sound of music blasted against the floor. No rest for the wicked, eh? 

She laid there for a mere two minutes before groaning, her hand against her head, and standing up. She supported herself against the wall, tracing her hand across the shit paint as she walked to the door. Her truck was waiting for her in the parking lot. 

As much as Lester grossed her out sometimes, even she had to admit that he was good. A useful asset to have when one robbed the Union Depository for example. She wondered what the hell he wanted to rob next. What could be better than the UD?

She let out a sigh and drove down the busy roads of Los Santos. She didn't keep to the speed limit but when did she ever do that? Trisha drove as fast as her mind went. It wasn't healthy but she couldn't care less. They were meeting in a park in the middle of buck fuck nowhere. Obviously. 

She saw Michael talking to Lester when she finally arrived. Franklin was there too with that dog of his, Chop. Trisha actually liked dogs. She would've had her own if she didn't have to have the responsibility of it. Chop seemed to like her too. Chop had seen things. He would have had to, living with Franklin of course. 

"Ah..." Lester tutted. "It's a good thing we're not on a schedule."

"Stuff it, Wheels, before I stuff you." Trisha snarled. She wasn't in the mood. 

While Lester was discussing his plan, robbing the Diamond Casino and Resort to be specific, Trisha kept spacing in and out. It wasn't like she had taken anything. Not since a couple of days ago actually. It was unlike her. 

"Franklin, take Lester back to his. Get the uniforms off him." Michael said, her eyes flickering to Trisha's pale face. "You okay?"

"Huh?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Trisha smirked, "nope. Just you."

"Fancy a drink?"

"Wanna come back to the club?"

"Fuck it. Why not?"

"Meet you there, M."

"Actually," Michael put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from leaving. "I got the bus. Give me a lift?"

Trisha rolled her eyes with a smile. "Sure thing. Hop in."


	5. Drunken Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol. That is all.

Michael wasn't afraid to confess that he had a colorful history with the Vanilla Unicorn. 

He had a complicated past with hookers and prostitutes. His wife used to be one after all. 

He and Trisha were sitting at the bar in a fairly empty strip joint. It was still quite early in the morning to be honest so he wasn't too surprised to find hardly any patrons inside except for the postman. Sitting at the bar, he noticed that Trisha was still pale as ever. He was actually rather concerned, particularly when Trisha declined the drink that was offered to her by the girl behind the bar. 

"You sure that you're okay, T?" 

Trisha nodded, leaning her head against her hand, elbow rested on the bar. She didn't feel great but being with Michael did make her feel a bit better. If Michael was going to be completely honest with himself, even though he clearly still hated himself, there was something that he felt for Trish that he shouldn't feel. He was a married man for Christ's sake. He didn't know if it was the complexity of her mind or the way she handled a gun during a robbery, but he liked Trish. He loved her like a friend for so long but there were those moments that they shared that made him feel the opposite. Or, feel more for her than he had done before. Seriously, he remembered during their first heist, how she handled that shotgun, that glint in her eyes.

The bloodlust was incomparable. 

He never met another woman quite like her. He doubted that he ever would again. Those nine years without her were torture but he moved on, until she came back into his life like a ghost. How ironic. 

The other week when they had sex on his living room floor, one of the best days he had in a while. 

He didn't even feel guilty about it though. He knew that he should have but he didn't. Amanda never felt guilty when she was with the tennis coach, or whoever fucking else it was that day. 

He knew that she left before he woke up and it actually saddened him a little. 

She wasn't a tall woman so she fit quite well as the little spoon. So much hostility in such a little package. 

"Want another, shug?" The barlady asked. 

"Hit me." He replied. 

"You should slow down pal." Trish smirked at him, turning her head to the side. 

"You not drinking?"

She shook her head.

"Wow," Michael's jaw dropped at the notion. Trisha never missed an opportunity to give in to her vices. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." 

"Bullshit."

"I'm a little under the weather," she said simply, "I've been sick every morning for days. How mad it is that?"

"Wait, what?"

Trisha nodded, sipping absently from her tumbler. 

"Like... just in the morning?"

"Yeah." 

"And you find that a "little" weird?"

"Okay, fine. A lot weird, if I'm gonna be honest." Trisha rubbed the back of her neck.

"Go the doctor. Get it checked out."

"No way." She denied. "I ain't gonna have some quack check me out. Moron."

"Heh." Michael laughed under his breath, "Still. You're not coming on the you-know-what if you're sick."

"I'm not sick." Trisha gritted her teeth, she sighed, "Fine. I'll get checked out but it's only so you'll stop mother henning me like an idiot." 

"I'm an idiot for caring about you?" 

"Yep." She popped the 'p'. 

They sat at the bar for a while, just talking and reminiscing and it felt good. It was a breather from the life they usually led. They both had dreams when they were younger, wanting to be something other than criminals but life never went the way anyone wanted. He was 45 and she was 48. Nearly 50. Trisha had aged like fine whiskey. She didn't have the baby face she had when they met and she had numerous gray hairs now but Michael actually found her more attractive. Unlike most women in this hellhole of a city, Trisha wouldn't be catcalled by thirsty men. Not that she gave a shit. 

He admired that about her. 

He remembered once, back in the early days of their friendship - if you could call it that - they were drinking in a nightclub and a weaselly little man tried to grope her and Trisha broke his hand, all while keeping a straight face. He didn't even have to intervene. 

"Hey," He gently shook her shoulder when he saw that she was close to falling asleep at the bar, "when was the last time you slept?"   
"Erm... probably the other day." 

"Come on." He shook his head. "Bedtime." 

"You kinky bitch." Trisha chuckled quietly to herself. "Get yourself takeout, we can talk more in my boudoir." 

One of the things that he never understood was how Trisha could live in that static home in the middle of a desert, or sleep on a ratty old sofa over a strip joint. She had more than enough money now to buy a nice house, whilst keeping the trailer and joint. 

Michael often thought about how they were two sides of the same coin. 

He was the controlled criminal. He planned everything to the letter and then followed that letter accordingly. He tried not to kill people when pulling jobs, only doing it when he was being attacked or when it was necessary. He was the criminal who attempted to retire and go straight. That did not go his way. At all. 

Trisha on the other hand was the kind of criminal that said 'fuck off' to the apple pie life, who didn't care about the anarchy and chaos that she caused. She was unhinged at it helped out a lot during the Paleto Score. The way she handled that machine gun? Flawless. 

He turned away while she took her clothes off, leaving her in just a bra and panties. Way too many times he had found her outside of liquor stores half naked. He turned around for a quick glimpse, noticing that the muscles on her stomach were as sharp as ever. It was strange how toned she was, he doubted that she ever hit the gym. 

"Oh God." 

He turned his head to her just in time to see her dart into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet to throw up into it. 

He grimaced, "Oh jeez, Trish."

He approached her carefully from behind and crouched down to her level, putting a hand on her sweaty back. "That's it. We're going the hospital."

"No...eurgh... hospital." 

"Then I'm getting a doctor to come here." 

"...fine." 

Michael stood outside of the door while the doctor he bribed to come was in the office with Trisha. Trisha had a bad history with doctors. She spent some time in a psychiatric ward, before breaking out of course. She was a young teenager when that happened. He remember her telling him about it. It was one of the few times where she didn't shout but she cried without shedding a tear. To say that Trisha had a sad childhood would be the fucking understatement of the decade. She didn't talk much about her parents, her father to be specific. She had a scar on her back that her prick of a father inflicted on her. 

The doctor walked out of the room with a somewhat scared look on his face. 

"Doc, is she alright?" 

The doctor was quaking in fear, what the hell did Trish do? 

"Thanks for the help, here's some money for your troubles." 

The doctor's hand shook when he took the money and he couldn't get out of the room fast enough. Michael furrowed his eyebrows together and knocked on the door, he could hear Trisha sob. 

"Trish? You okay?" 

His eyes widened when he saw the dent in the wall and a bloody mess on the floor. Trisha was curled up on the sofa with her fist curled up against her chest. 

He sat down on the edge of the sofa, putting a hand on her back, "Hey," he said softly, "what is it? What did the doctor say?" 

She let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes, just with her head looking at the back of the sofa. "Something bad, M." 

"What?" 

"He said I was...." she shook her head, Michael used his thumb to wipe the tears away. "I'm pregnant, M." 

"Huh?" Michael's jaw dropped, his eyes widened, "You're not joking, are you?" 

Trisha shook her head, "I really wish he was. I'm too old for this shit! I've already lost one, I can't lose another." 

"You won't." Michael bent down to kiss her temple, "You've got me, T." 

"What about you? You have a family!" 

Michael shrugged, "Do you know who the father is?" 

"Are you thick in the head?" Trisha sat herself up, simply shaking her head, tear stains on her cheeks. "It's you, ya dumbass." 

"What?" 

"At your house? On the floor? Too much of that cheap wine?" Trisha couldn't believe how oblivious he was. "Wow, you really are... I don't even know the word." 

"Shit." Michael put a hand to his mouth, comprehending what he had just heard. "What am I going to do?" 

"What are you going to do? What am _I_ going to do?" Trisha punched his shoulder, not enough to hurt him though, "I'm the one who's going to have to push a watermelon out of my fucking vagina!" 

"You're right, sorry, it's just a lot to take in."

"I know." Trisha sighed. "I'm scared, M." 

Shit. That was bad. Trisha was afraid of nothing. 


	6. Sandy on the Shores

Michael didn't have a chance to say anything else because Trisha had bolted out of the strip club. 

"Fuck!" He harshly whispered. 

To be honest, he was expecting Trish to do something. He heard a sharp shriek from outside. What had she done now? He managed to reach the door just in time to see her kick someone off their motorbike. 

"T!" 

Either she didn't hear him or she elected to ignore him, whichever way it was, it wasn't good. He ran around to Trish's Bodhi that she conveniently left behind in the parking lot. He could feel that pit in the bottom of his stomach grow, he didn't have a clue where she was going. Well, he had a few ideas where she could be going. He just hoped that he'd get there in time. 

_9 years ago..._

_"Fuck this!" Brad punched the wall, "I'm going bed."  
"Then go, slob," Trisha put her middle finger behind his back. _

_"Knock it off, you two."_

_"Sorry, man." Trisha giggled, sitting herself on the sofa in the cheap motel room they had rented for the night before the heist the next day._

_Brad was a little angry and neither Trisha or Michael knew why. They left him to his own devices so that he could pass out in his room. Trisha put her knees to her chest on the sofa whilst Michael picked up the takeout from the place down the road._

_"Ooooh," Trisha clapped her hands together, "this looks mighty fine, my man."_

_Whilst tucking into their food, Michael kept looking to and fro from Trisha to his food. She noticed._

_"Is something bothering ya?"_

_There was something bothering Michael, the next day was about to bring something that could go horribly wrong. Trisha could be dead tomorrow and there was a small put of him that would feel relief. She'd be at peace. That was only a small percentage though, he felt guilty. Terribly guilty. He didn't care if Brad died. He really couldn't. Brad was just one small cog in the mighty machine that was his life._

_In the background of the motel room, he could hear 'Annie's Song' playing -John Denver of course. He had a weird connection with that song. It was the song that played in the bar that he first drank in with Trisha, before his life changed forever. Whilst Brad was a small cog, Trisha was a big cog. They met in their twenties and had been friends ever since. He did wonder if anything more would grow between them, then he met Amanda. He knocked her up and felt obligated to marry her. There was something between them and he did notice the sad glances that Trisha would give them._

_"No." Michael feigned a smile, "Nothing at all."_

_Trisha finished up her food and budged closer to him, "Hey, if something goes wrong tomorrow, I just wanted to say... Well, I think that I'd be pissed with myself if I never said anything."_

_"Huh?" He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity peaked. "And what's that?"_

_"...Well, I- erm- Oh, forget it. Doesn't matter."_

_Michael smirked, then he did something that he didn't really think about doing it, he cupped the back of her neck and brushed his lips against hers. He closed his eyes, and pushed her gently against the back of the sofa, happy when she went along with it, not resisting at all._

_"We don't have to-"  
"No, it's okay," Trisha smiled warmly, "I've always wanted to do this. You know what they say, Mikey, good things come to those who wait." _

_Michael laughed under his breath, the rest they say is history._

"Outta my way, dickhead!" Trisha honked the horn on the bike, zooming down the roads. Her mind grew blank, just a ringing in her ears for the moment. How the fuck did she let this happen? She was 48 for Christ's sake. How!? 

It wasn't long til she found herself back in the haven of Sandy Shores. Why did she leave this place? Just to see if a ghost was actually alive? What a moron. A fucking moron! 

"RON!" Trisha said, sliding of the bike. "Where are ya, ya little weasel!?" 

"Here, T!" Ron's voice could be heard beside the garage of her home. "You're back! I thought you were in LS for a bit." 

"I was but now I'm back!" She growled. 

Ron had learnt that when Hurricane Trisha was blowing he would have to wait, or distract her with something. "Need a drink, T?" 

"Get me some fucking soda or some crap. I can't fucking drink!" 

"Huh?"

"Now, Ronald!" 

She kicked the bike across the road, yelling some profanities as she did so before jumping her fence and stomping up the steps to the house. "Fuck this!"

"Something happened?" Ron asked, warily. 

"You could say that," Trisha let out a small growl. 

The trailer, like always, was a mess but Trisha couldn't give a shit. Her mind was somewhere else, like the fact she was pregnant. She wasn't a young woman anymore. Pregnancy was a fucking rollercoaster, one that she didn't particularly want to ride. She had a few options, she could abort. She knew that people looked down on it, she didn't. If a woman wants to have an abortion, let her. It's her body after all. Trish though, she personally didn't think she could go through with it. It's a tough decision. One that she didn't want to make. 

She plopped herself down on the sofa and laid back against it, like you'd do at a therapy office. Like she'd go to therapy. She vowed she wouldn't. Trish had a lot of respect for Michael but she could never understand why he'd waste his time, and his money for that matter, on someone who tells him shit that he already knows. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" 

"No, thanks." She sighed, putting her hands on her face, yelling into her hands for a moment. 

Ron backed away. Although he knew that Trisha would never lay a hand on him, he still had every right to be afraid of her. Wade was a little gullible in comparison. Once they walked in on Trisha killing a member of the Lost MC. Wade called it strawberry syrup but Ron knew better. Despite that, he knew that she was a protector of sorts, though there was the threat of wanking him off. He knew that she was joking though, she'd walk off before anything happened. 

He had seen her cry once and that was when her mother came, albeit very briefly. Ron didn't know much about Mrs Philips but he did know that she wasn't an angel, her daughter took after slightly, not that Ron would ever tell her that. He valued whatever sanity he had left. 

"Life's shit. I need the lemons." 

"Sorry, T, what did ya say?" He asked when he pulled a can of soda out of the fridge. "Didn't quite hear ya." 

"I said, I need the lemons." Trisha uncovered her eyes and rolled them at Ron, "Why doesn't life ever go the way I fucking well need it to, Ron? I don't ask for much, do I?" 

"No, ma'am." 

"Look, I need a good distraction, one that doesn't involve speed, weed, any drug for that matter, and no alcohol." 

"Well, one of the packages needs flying to the delivery points," Ron pointed out, "If you fancy flying?" 

"Fuck it." Trisha rolled off the sofa, "Preggos can fly planes, can't they?" 

"Preg- You're pregnant?!" Ron gasped. "Wow, T, that's-"

"Balls is what it is, Ronald." Trisha laughed, there wasn't any humour behind it though, "I've fucked up things massively." 

"Don't say that, Trish." Ron tried to be supportive of her without being patronizing. "It'll be fine."   
"Oh, will it?" Trisha sighed, "Listen if Michael comes, tell him I'm not here." 

"Why would Michael come all the way out here?" 

"Because he's insufferable, and unfortunately cares a lot about me, and his kid." 

"He's the father?" 

"Yep." 

"Does he know?" 

"What's with all the questions, Ron?" Trisha rolled her head back, "I'm not on Mastermind." 

"Sorry, T." Ron apologized, "I'm just worried about ya." 

"I know," She replied mournfully, "Just- I need some time alone."

"Okay, just be careful out there." 

"Please, Ronald, how long have we known each other?" She asked with a smirk, "pretty sure I can look after myself, if not... well, I'm feeling a tad peckish." 


	7. Sunny by Boney M.

_9 years ago..._

So, it seemed that Trisha's life had turned to shit. 

Her best friend was dead. Brad too. Wheels had fucked off somewhere but honestly, Trisha could not give a shit. 

She was lumbered in some bar, swirling the liquid in the glass around, staring into the bottomless pit. There was some dickhead behind her who kept whistling and cat calling her. 

"Come on, baby, I can show you a good time." He taunted. Trisha tried to ignore him. 

"Look at that tight ass." He gasped, "I could show you a good time." 

Now, Trisha could do this in two ways. 

1\. Yell at him and tell him to fuck off. 

Or... 

2\. Play along. 

Normally, she would just yell at the men who tried to grope her but her best friend was dead and she was bored. A dangerous combo. 

"Well, ain't you a gent?" Trisha winked at him, tilting her head in the direction of the adjacent bar stool. "Why don't you come on over here and buy a lady a drink?"

He licked his lips hungrily and came to her but what he wasn't expecting was Trisha to slip off her chair the moment he was about to sit on his, grab a pool cue from the rack and whack him behind his knees, sending him to the ground. 

"Still a tight ass?" She growled, hitting him in the back. "We'll see who the lady is now, huh?"

Whilst the patrons in the bar quivered in fear, the barman smirked at her performance. 

He pointed to the door, showing the greasy man out. "And stay out."

"What a cunt." Trisha snarled quietly. 

"Have a drink on the house, ma'am." The barman poured her a drink, passing the glass to her. 

"Thanks." She said, dropping the cue to the floor, sitting herself back down on the seat. 

"If you dont mind me saying, ma'am," he whispered, "I think I have a proposition for a lady with your... talents, shall we say?"

Trisha leant forward, finding herself curious. "Go on."

"Ever heard of San Andreas?"

Trisha nodded, "place full of fake people."

"In the city, LS, yes. I'd say that was true. I'm talking about Blaine County."

"Blaine County?"

"It's a desert, a few miles outta the city." He explained. "Place is full of methheads and bikers. Not saying you're a methhead or anything."

Trisha found herself intrigued. 

"Anyway, I've heard through the grapevine, that there's a particular biker gang, I think they're called the Lost MC, that are looking for muscle all the time. Interested?"

Fuck it. She didn't want to stick around here. 

"I know someone out there, name's Ron Jakowski. I'll let him know you're on the way. If you're interested."

"Yeah. I am." Trisha shook his hand. "I've got a chopper. Send me the coordinates. Here's my number."

They exchanged phone numbers at the bar. Trisha felt a sense of freedom. Maybe going to the middle of fucking nowhere to deal with bikers and junkies was just what she needed now. Her old crew was dead. She needed something new. Something fresh. Maybe this could give her that. 

"I'll let him know that you're coming. Remember, the hangar is near a place called Sandy Shores."

"Sandy Shores. Right. Got ya. 

_Some Time Later..._

Trisha was hold up in a motel a few miles from her trailer at Sandy Shores.

She was sitting on the toilet, tears running down her face. The white stick with those two blue lines, sitting by the sink, staring at her accusingly. 

She had been in San Andrea's for a couple of weeks when she realized that something was amiss. She just never expected to be pregnant. She didn't like the idea. She always hated how her parents had been with her. What if she was like that too? She couldn't bare the thought, especially when she realized just who the father of her unborn baby was. 

Michael. 

Of fucking course. 

It just had to be her dead best friend. 

She snapped the stick in two and threw it away, disposing of it in the bin under the sink. Staring into the mirror, Trisha could only see the empty shell that she had become. Leaving the life she had in North Yankton behind and travelling all the way to San Andreas was on of the better ideas that she had. The hellhole that she left behind, that was always snowing and never sunny, reminded her too much of Michael, of the old way of life. Someone told her that people went to Los Santos to reinvent themselves. Well, she went to Sandy Shores to find herself again. 

_She flew her chopper to the airfield that the guy sent her coordinates to. Landing down, she could see a small, jittery man next to a dirtbike._

_"Hi there!" He waved his hand, "I was told that I was expecting you."_

_"It's Ron, right?"_

_"That's it, yeah," Trisha climbed out of the chopper, landing beside the man. "I was told you were the guy to show me around."_

_"Yeah, erm, this way, I got a trailer next to mine. Well, I say trailer, it's attached to a trailer. It's more like a shoebox but you can make it your home, I'm sure."_

_"Thanks, man." She nodded, following him to the dirtbike. "The guy told me it was a desert but FUCK ME."_

_Ron laughed lightly, "Yeah, don't let appearances deceive ya though, a lot happens in Blaine County."_

_Trisha put her hands together, "Well, that's great because I need some excitement in my life."_

Present Time...

Trisha had driven to the McKenzie Air Field and found Oscar waiting buy the hangar. She marched up to him, attempting to scare him. 

"Boo!" 

"Ah!" Oscar yelped, jumping out of his skin, "Hey, there, T. How ya been?" 

"Shit, my friend, like rat shit down a fucking drain." Trisha chuckled, "Enough about me, Ron said you had a package that needs to be delivered." 

"That's true yeah," Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, "already loaded it up on ya biplane. Take it to this place," He showed her the image on his phone, "guy named Donald, he should be waiting by the barn for it." 

"Great." Trisha brushed his shoulder as she walked beside him to get into the plane.   
"He said that if you're there in half an hour, he'll double it." 

"Fuck me!" Trisha cackled. "Why didn't you say so? I always loved a challenge!" 

Meanwhile, Michael had driven to Sandy Shores. He parked his car outside out Trisha's trailer and walked up the steps to the front door, he knocked on it twice. No answer. He attempted to turn the knob. Locked. Since when did she lock the door? 

"Can I help ya, Mr De Santa?" 

Michael turned to see Trisha's friend, Ron, at the bottom of the steps. 

"You know where Trish is?" 

"No, sir." Ron shook his head. His eyes flickered. It was his tell and Michael could tell that. Still, he didn't want to scare the man. He pulled out his wallet and flashed him $50. "You sure you don't know where she is?"

Ron looked like he wasn't going to say anything but he looked at the money longingly and eventually spilled the beans. "McKenzie Airfield. She'd be in the plane by now though, don't worry, she'll be back soon." 

"Shit." Michael sighed. "Has she told you anything?" 

"...Yeah." Ron rolled his head, he didn't mean to tell him. "Please don't tell her that I told you." 

"Don't worry, I won't." 


	8. The Vineyard

The package had been delivered and Trisha was on her way back to the trailer, she wasn't expecting to see Michael's car there though.

"Trish." Michael nodded his head. He was leaning against his car with his arms folded over his chest. 

"Michael." Trisha replied as she got off the motorbike, parking it beside the car. "Sorry that I wasn't here."

"No. You needed to blow off some steam. I get it. I mean... I can't understand how you're feeling right now but I know that you have to deal with it in a certain way." 

"I just can't believe it." Trisha sighed. She stood in front of him, trying not to break down. She hated being weak, especially in front of him. Michael hadn't seen her at her very lowest and she wasn't going to show him right then and there. "I don't know what to do. That's a first."

"Its not an easy decision to make but whatever you choose... I'll be there."

"I... I want it." Trisha whispered, almost as though she was ashamed of saying it. 

Michael had kids. He knew that they could be a handful. Tracy had been an accident, a drunken one with a prostitute. Jimmy was also an accident, with a prostitute turned wife. On the other hand, Trisha didn't have kids and the only times she had time with little children was with his own when they were little. 

"Then you'll have it." Michael promised, not realizing Ron was standing on the porch, on the top of the stairs. "We'll work out the kinks, it'll be fine." 

"How do you know, M?" 

"I don't." Michael confessed, "We'll go with the flow." 

"I want to do one last job." Trisha sighed, "Just the one, then'll the next nine months will have me doing nothing."

"Wow." Michael rolled his eyes at her with a smirk, "Think you can last that long without doing anything criminal." 

"We'll see." Trisha laughed under her breath, she walked closer to him and held out a hand. "It seems we have reached an accord." 

Michael grabbed her hand and pulled her to his chest, kissing her cheek tenderly, "There was something else that I wanted to talk to you about."   
"What is it?" 

"Can we talk?" Michael tilted his head to the trailer, "Inside?" 

"Sure." 

Michael sat himself down on the sofa, noticing that someone had been cleaning up, he doubted that it was her. Trisha cautiously sat down beside him, eyeing him carefully. Even when they were young, she hated that he could be silent for so long. How did he do it? 

"Listen, this isn't going to be easy for me to say..."

"Just come out with it." Trisha told him, a little impatiently. She was a little worried what he was going to say. Her insides churned. 

"How do you feel about wearing a dress?"


	9. Stealing the File

Throughout the entire time Michael had been friends with Trisha, he had never seen her in a dress before. The thing was, Michael had always seen Trisha in a way that not many other people did. She didn't need to look socially beautiful for her to be so. Michael never saw Trisha like that, unlike Amanda. He never quite understood the feelings he had for Trisha. Someone asked him how he could stand to be around a woman who swore all the time, looked like crap, smoked, drank... the list went on. He didn't get it, if he was going to be honest. 

However, they were back at the strip joint and he was sitting in the dressing room with Franklin and Lester whilst Trisha got dressed into one of the dresses that Franklin had procured from a third party. No questions were asked. Lester was standing by the mirror, staring at the dancers that were walking in the hallway. 

"Oi," Michael clicked his fingers in front of Lester's face, "quit it. They'll pull a lawsuit on your ass." 

Lester mumbled something incoherent under his breath, Michael looking into the mirror and fixed his black tie that went with the sleek tux, the same one he attempted to wear to the premier of Meltdown. The one he never watched because Merryweather were about to murder his family. 

"Looking mighty fine, dog." Franklin smirked, he had sat himself down on one of the stools beside the mirrors that the strippers would use to do up their makeup and hair. "You think she's nearly done." 

"From my experience," Michael snickered, "you should never rush a lady even if that lady is a psychopath." 

"So," Franklin asked, "What were you two like when you were kids?" 

"Well, she would say something like I'm a pussy or something," He laughed, "Trisha, well, she was like she is now, just slightly saner."

"Huh." 

"What?" 

"Nothin'." 

"No," Michael shook his head, "Something's clearly bothering you." 

"No, not bothering me, dog. It's just... I can't imagine her as a kid. You know what I mean?" 

"She didn't have it easy." Michael whispered. "I'm not giving excuses but it's an explanation." 

"You done, Philips?" Lester knocked on the door to Trisha's office with his cane, "Daylight's burning." 

"You'll be burning in a minute!" Trisha yelled back through the door. 

Michael was still turned towards the mirror, his back turned towards the door when the door knob turned and Trisha walked into the room, the sound of high heels clicking against the tiles. Michael's eyes widened when he saw Trisha through the mirror. Despite the grayness to her brown hair and the crow's feet around her eyes, Trisha looked... almost youthful. 

"Wow." Michael spluttered, "T, Jesus, you look great." 

Trisha had smoky eyes, dark red, matte lips and a pale pink rouge on her cheeks. Half of her hair was in a bun whilst the other half was draping by her neck. The red sparkly dress was strapless and had a slit up the side, it came to her ankles and she was wearing black platforms on her feet. 

"I look ridiculous." Trisha sighed. 

"You're joking?" Michael shook his head, "Trish, you look terrific." 

Trisha rolled her eyes but Michael couldn't ignore the smile that grew on her face. 

"Right, so Michael and Trisha are going to be inside the Vineyard, there's a party going on tonight. The invites will have been sent to Michael's phone. I have a car ready for you to drive there with. The person you need to find will be obvious. Ms Cheng doesn't want him killed but you do need to get the file away from there. Bring it back to the garment factory and we'll go from there." 

"I'll be on getaway," Franklin nodded, "I've got the ride sorted, I'll be in the getaway location." 

"Right, we best be going."  
"No weapons." Lester reminded. "I'm looking at you, Philips." 

"I never need any anyway," Trisha smirked. "Shall we just get going now." 

Everyone knew where the Vineyard was, it was where the San Andreas wine was made, it wasn't the best but it was certainly... unique to say the least. Driving a purple Lamborghini was exactly on Michael's agenda for the day but he wasn't annoyed by it, Trisha was sitting beside him after all. Speaking of which, Trisha had been especially quiet during the journey. He couldn't blame her. She was probably thinking about her current situation. 

"Hey." He said softly. "You can talk to me, you know that right?" 

"Yeah, I know, Mike." 

"What's wrong? Is it the baby?" 

Trisha shrugged, "I don't know. I don't know what I'm thinking." 

"That's okay." Michael smiled, "It's a lot to process." 

"I-" Trisha shook her head and leant her head against the window. "Let's just get this over with." 

"Listen, there is something else we should probably talk about," Michael rolled his head, "I don't quite know how to... talk about it." 

"What's going on?" 

"Erm..." 

"Michael." Trisha punctuated. "What is wrong?" 

"It's Amanda." Michael sighed. "Have you noticed that I've been hanging out with you a little bit too much? That I haven't been home?" 

"No offense but I thought it was because you fucking knocked me up." 

"That's an addition." 

Trisha rolled her eyes and looked at him with a serious look on her face, "What's gone on?" 

"We're getting a divorce, I'm serious this time." 

"Shit." Trisha let out a deep breath, "How come?" 

"...If I'm gonna be honest, I haven't felt anything for her in a while. I thought if we worked it out it would be okay." Michael turned a corner, turning onto the freeway. "We told the kids, surprisingly they were okay with it."

"They can act like assholes but they're your assholes." Trisha laughed wholeheartedly, "You shouldn't be with someone you don't love." 

"Which is why I wanted to talk to you about it." 

Trisha leant her head against the seat, her body turned towards him. 

"Trish," Michael didn't dare look at her in case he said the wrong thing, "I want you to live with me, in that house. I don't want to be alone. I'm sure that you don't want to be either."

"I don't but Michael, do you want this baby. I do but I need to know if you do. I don't want to have to raise this baby by myself." 

"You won't have to." Michael promised. 


	10. Guns and Bullets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trish gets with the Lost MC

A few years prior... 

There's such a weird feeling that Trisha had for several weeks after leaving North Yankton, like what was she supposed to do now? She wasn't ever a really sentimental person but she loved him. She loved that bastard Michael so much that she would bring him back from the dead just to punch him in the face for leaving him. 

She could remember the day when her father left. She was only little but she remembered it as clear as crystal. There was a feeling inside of her that she liked. She was so glad that he was gone but that feeling didn't last long because her mother was still there and slapped her around the face, placing the blame on her. 

Trisha could remember the day she left home. 

Then again, it was never really home. 

Now, she was lying down on her bed in that shitty static home, staring up at the ceiling. On the stereo, that song by Dionne Warwick was playing, _What do you get when you fall in love? A guy with a pin to burst your bubble._ Trisha didn't really listen to this music a lot but when she did she became lost in thought, hiding inside a bubble of her own creation. _Don't tell me what it's all about because I've been there and I'm glad I'm out._ What was it about this song? _Don't you know that I'll never fall in love again?_ Accurate. 

"Hey, you in Phillips?" A voice came from outside the door, along with a knock. 

"Fuck me." Trisha rolled herself off the bed, "Who is it?" 

"Kev, you coming out?" 

"Came out years ago pal." Trisha giggled to herself, she slipped on a pair of blue flip flops, her hair in a messy bun. She opened the door to reveal Kev, a biker from one of the local MC's. 

"You busy?" 

"For you?" Trish scoffed, "I was about to masturbate but I suppose I could wait, if you make it worth my while." 

"Erm, yeah, well," Kev awkwardly cleared his throat, trying not to look at her obvious cleavage. "We need you to pick up some packages, on a bike." 

"Don't know if you noticed this... I don't seem to fucking have one." 

"You can use mine, I guess."

Sorted then. Trisha ushered him inside, sneezing as she did so. "Lemme get changed then we'll be off." 

Present Day

"Fuck yeah!" Trisha clapped, holding the file in her hand. "We did it, man." 

"Thank fucking God." Michael sighed. "I'm getting too old for this shit." 

"Same here." She smirked, Trisha was just glad to be in a car someone in the middle of buck fuck nowhere. Never in the history of never had she been more relieved to be half naked, waiting for someone to pick up a damn file so she could get back to doing nothing. 

"When's Wheels supposed to be here?" 

Michael shrugged, "He said he was en route as we left the Vineyard."

"Cool. I'm gonna catch a few winks. Wake me when you hear him roll." 


End file.
